


Sneeping Beauty

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Gender Neutral Crowley, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Honestly there's very little else going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24180937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: It's just Sleeping Beauty. That's all there is to it.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 98
Collections: MoFu Birthdays





	Sneeping Beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atmilliways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Jean! I love you very much and I hope you enjoy this gift!

The knight rides up to the bridge and surveys the rising wall of brambles that blocks his progress. Beneath him, his horse shifts nervously, lifting her feet one at a time and dancing on the spot, responding to the dark energy oozing from the thicket beyond the bridge. There seems to be no chance of riding any further.

Reluctantly, the knight slides from the saddle and secures his steed to an iron ring set into the stone of the bridge, tying the reins loosely enough that she can pull free if he doesn’t return. With one last soothing stroke of her strong neck, the knight bids his horse farewell and crosses the bridge on foot.

Drawing his sword as a precaution, the knight prepares to push his way through the briar. His plate armour protects him from the thorns and he doesn’t dare lift the visor of his helm, seeing too many dangerously sharp barbs angled perfectly to steal his sight.

Progress is slow, but he pushes on. The brambles are becoming more dense and several times he has to hack at branches to clear his path. It’s some time before he is close enough to even catch a glimpse of the castle he’s attempting to reach. Reassured that he is at least heading in the right direction, the knight presses on.

The vegetation grows thicker as he gets closer to the castle and he has to use his sword more frequently, slicing through stems as thick as his wrist to win just a few inches of forward movement. It appears as though the castle isn’t getting any closer, and it hadn’t seemed all that far away to begin with. It’s growing darker and the knight is becoming exhausted from his exertions. The feeling of something evil lurking nearby has him constantly alert, expecting a confrontation with each step he takes. All he hears are the birds, circling overhead and calling out to him in mocking voices.

Still, he presses on, lifting his sword with aching arms and cutting a path inch by painful inch.

Perhaps too late, the knight realises that the fading light is less related to the sinking of the sun and more to do with the way the briar now towers over him, blocking out all warmth and comfort from above. He shivers in his armour, rattling and clattering in a manner most unbecoming to someone of his position. There’s no audience here, no one to judge him for his very human fears.

Enclosed entirely by thorny limbs, the knight can no longer see the castle, can no longer judge his direction. Even the path he has cleared behind him seems to disappear as quickly as he makes it. Something truly dark is behind the goings-on here, something he hopes he won’t have to face.

After hacking for some minutes at a vine as large around as his thigh, the knight falls to his knees in relief at the sight that is revealed to him. Light seeps into the thicket, a paved courtyard is no more than five yards ahead of him and most assuredly within reach. Reinvigorated, the knight makes short work of the remaining branches and bursts into the open air of the courtyard.

Tugging off his helm and casting it aside, he breathes deeply of the sweet atmosphere, letting the fill of his lungs strain against the restrictive fit of his cuirass. At once, the elation of his triumph gives way to a sickly recognition of the new dangers he may still face.

Taking time to hone his blade and give thanks for his success against the briar, the knight prepares for the next leg of his perilous journey.

Looking up at the castle, he can just make out a faint light coming from the small window at the top of the highest tower. Making a choice he hopes he won’t regret, the knight removes his gauntlets, sabatons, greaves and vambraces, tossing them aside to lighten his load for the exertions to come.

From the courtyard, he follows the outer wall of the castle until he finds a well and gives in to the temptation of cool water, sluicing it over his head and feeling it trickle along the sweat-slick skin of his back and soak the linen of his shirt. It’s a brief reprieve from the heat of his overtired body, and a welcome one. Moments later, he spots the open gateway leading into the inner keep of the castle. With his sword in hand, wary of his vulnerability to attack from all sides, the knight darts under the portcullis with his eyes fixed on the sharp points hanging above him. He moves through the wide gateway as quickly as he can, watching the murder holes for any sign of movement.

Nothing occurs and he finds himself safely in the more private courtyard within the castle walls. Unbidden, his gaze migrates back towards the tallest tower, the soft light from the windows now more noticeable against the gathering dark of evening. He takes in the shape of the castle, trying to work out the most likely route to the top of the tower. Spotting a garderobe opening on the external wall, the knight briefly considers it as a point of entry before ruling it out entirely. Simply too unspeakable, even for this particular task. Instead, the knight makes for the main door, his sword at the ready.

The door opens with a loud and ominous creak before coming to a sudden stop against something behind it, forcing the knight to squeeze through and shove roughly at the weathered surface until it allows him in.

His eyes adjust to the gloom of the entrance hall quickly enough to bring him face to face with a giant serpent, its head easily the size of an average horse. Swinging his sword, the knight prepares to defend himself from any sudden strike. The snake doesn’t move.

Cautiously, the knight moves forwards, his eyes still adapting to the lack of light. He kicks at the snout of the beast and laughs stupidly when it collapses to the side. It’s just a skin, shed by the serpent, perhaps left to frighten off would-be intruders.

Knowing that whatever left the skin- and he does know who it had come from, doesn’t he- must be still lurking, the knight grips his sword in both hands and keeps it raised as he shuffles past the discarded slough and towards the stairs.

Keeping his bearings inside the building is far easier than it had been out in the brambles; the knight makes his way to the winding staircase of the tower in almost no time at all. Knowing that he’s at a disadvantage on these spiralling stairs, the knight keeps his wits about him, listening for anything that might signal the approach of another living soul. The castle is eerily quiet and it makes his careful footsteps sound clumsy and thunderous.

Finally, he arrives at a door of plain, rough wood. Light seeps around the edges, spilling soft and golden onto the top few steps. The knight barely has time to steel himself before his curiosity sends him through the door and into the room beyond.

It’s perfectly round, taking up the entirety of the top floor. The light is coming from four tall, wrought iron candelabras, set at the cardinal points of the room. There is no wax on the floor beneath them, no evidence of how long they must have been burning. The knight has been able to see the light for a number of hours and yet the candles look as though they were lit just seconds ago.

In the centre of the room is a bed- four posts stretch high and hold a gauzy canopy in the colour of rich, red wine over the sole occupant. The knight catches a glimpse of milk-pale skin and flame-red hair as an errant breeze lifts the canopy for the briefest moment.

Unable to tear his eyes away from the scene before him, and feeling more than a little awe, he sets his sword on the floor. The knight moves towards the bed in reverent silence to draw the fine canopy aside to fully reveal the sleeper within. His eyes catch an unexpected shape just beyond the bed and on the other side of the light gauze. Of all things, there is a spinning wheel in this beautiful room, a delicate strand of flaxen thread still wound around the bobbin.

He can’t keep his attention on it for more than a few moments, not with the beauty in the bed before him. Carefully, the knight settles on the edge of the bed and takes in the sight of perfect loveliness that he is uniquely privileged to witness.

A beloved face, slack and worry-free in sleep, surrounded by a fanning halo of fiery curls. The knight has never seen a sight more breath-taking and, despite himself, he reaches out with trembling fingers to brush the downy soft cheek of the sleeper. Far too lovely by any measure, he thinks as he prepares himself for what he must do.

The knight lays his hands on the slender shoulders of the sleeper, gentle and soft, barely gripping the warm skin. He bites at his bottom lip and leans in slowly.

“Crowley, I must insist you wake up now, this has gone on  _ quite _ long enough. I know you’re sulking but we’re both going to get into trouble soon.” There’s no response from the sleeper, not even a change to the steady draw of breath. “Crowley!” The knight shakes the sleeper by the shoulders, growing more vigorous as his volume rises. “Wake up this instant! You dramatic beast!”

The sleeper groans and pushes at the knight with sleep-weak hands.

“’Ziraphale?” the sleeper asks, voice thick with disuse, “What, no kiss?”

The knight seriously considers throttling the sleeper where he lies.


End file.
